| Poems from | |
| The Accountants’ Storeroom Files. Piles of files. Broken old things. Racks with paper stacks. Stuffed black plastic bags. Blind drawn down to darken all. Broom and brush, bucket and mop. Ledger-books in dark nooks inked in by hand. The rat-trap to catch the rats that shit and scratch. Grey paint that flakes from the rusting iron file-stands. Dirty dead machines, dry with time lie piled in a corner. The light hums and stammers making any movement shutter. The chipped hotel saucer with a dried teabag and dead cigarettes. Dust rustles and settles on loose-leaf binders, crunches underfoot. Old elastic bands that stretch to snapping point around brown manila. Print-out heaps repeat and repeat in neat rows of names and numbers. Locked iron cabinets pale grey along the wall, still priced from the sale. | |